


To beat the Need

by Platypus_prefer_cornflowers



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, John is a Good Friend, Mentioned Eurus Holmes, Mentioned Greg Lestrade, Mentioned Mrs Hudson, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Pizza, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Sherlock Whump, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24646537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Platypus_prefer_cornflowers/pseuds/Platypus_prefer_cornflowers
Summary: So, this idea came from that moment in "The final problem" when Eurus reminds Sherlock of the time she made him laugh. Or wait, did she make him cry ?What if she had hurt him more than once and what if Sherlock had kept this habit whenever he was triggered ?And how does John react when he figures this out ?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone. 
> 
> There is mention of self-harm in this. Please don't read it if you're not confortable with the idea, I don't want anyone to get triggered or hurt. Take care of yourselves.
> 
> A big thank you to my two wonderful betas for taking the time to reread this fic and correct it, and for their encouragement !

The flat at 221b Baker street was, for once, quiet and calm. There had been a difficult case the previous week : a small mystery had led Sherlock and John to a psychopath. They had interrupted him while he was torturing his latest victim. Lestrade had taken care of the poor victim who was alive but in a bad shape.

After that, our two detectives had decided to take a few days off.

John was out buying pizza, Rosie was with Mrs Hudson, and Sherlock was in the kitchen, burning a human eyeball. He was studying the time needed for complete evaporation of the vitreous humor.

Sherlock was noting down a few words when _It_ came.

The Need.

He gasped, the pen clattered onto the floor. He clutched his hands, then began to scratch his arms. He _had_ to keep it under control.

Usually, the Need was small. Simple scratches, sometimes until blood welled up to the surface, was enough. But other times, if he were triggered, the usual discomfort could turn into a fit. The Need. The Need for pain. The Need to be hurt, to surrender completely.

"No..." He groaned as he got up, still scratching his arms.

It wasn't enough.

He couldn't think anymore.

A fog was invading his mind. He needed more. Sherlock needed him.

Him.

His master.

His master had the power to help, to control the Need and to relieve Sherlock from it. But his master wasn't here.

Sherlock moved to the living room. Blood was now beginning to flow from the scratches on his arms.

"Pain… I need more pain," he muttered to himself. That was his only thought when he collapsed to his knees.

At that moment, the door opened.

"Hey, I bought two Regina pizzas, I know how much you like— SHERLOCK!" John dropped the pizzas onto the floor and rushed to his friend's side. "What's wrong? God, is this your blood? Sherlock, look at me... please, look at me... "

Sherlock lifted his head. His eyes passed through John, unseeingly, but he could feel the hands on his shoulders.

"God, Sherlock... Hey, can you hear me? Sherlock, can you hear me? Answer me, please," continued John.

Sherlock finally locked his gaze with John's, "Master, please, master... help me... please, I beg you, make it go away," his voice was trembling.

John straightened up. He should have anticipated this. When they had found the psychopath's victim screaming in pure agony, he had noticed the paleness of his friend, the wild eyes and the slight shaking of Sherlock's hands.

He knew what was happening, and he knew why. 


	2. Chapter 2

One day, a few months after Sherrinford, when they were living together again in Baker Street, John had noted marks on Sherlock's arms poorly hidden by his sleeves. John hadn't the deductive powers of his friend, but, as a doctor, he could immediately recognise self-inflicted wounds. He had been about to ask about it when Sherlock, following his gaze, had quickly hidden his arms, wearing a very non-Sherlock look. A look of shame.

Concerned, John had decided to call Mycroft and had asked him if Sherlock had the habit of hurting himself. There had been a very long silence at the other end. Then, after a sigh, Mycroft had started to speak. 

"So he started up again? Shit. He had managed to stop a few weeks after Serbia... it's not surprising that he's back at it with what happened at Sherrinford." 

"What are you talking about? What's wrong with him?" 

“Well... now that you know about Eurus, it will be easier to explain. "You are aware that our sister can be very violent and cruel without even realising it, this was especially true when she was young. The point is that our parents hadn't realised this until… you know… Redbeard. Before that, Sherlock and Eurus spent a lot of time together. Sometimes, they were completely alone. And Eurus… well, Eurus had a weird way of showing her affection. We discovered that too late."

John felt his stomach drop. He has seen what Eurus was capable of. She didn't have any remorse about killing or inflicting psychological torture on her own brothers. She was responsible for the worst trauma in Sherlock's life. To imagine little Sherlock alone with her multiple times was horrifying.

"What did she do to him? Tell me."

Closing his eyes, Mycroft answered in a low voice, "She hurt him. Physically. Many times. It was nothing serious, but it was enough. And, after what happened with Redbeard, it was too much to bear for Sherlock. Something changed, deep in his mind. Something more than the whole 'sociopath' thing. When he grew up, he erased those memories, but the damage stayed. And so, when that trauma resurfaces…”

“He hurts himself because Eurus isn't here to do it," finished John with anger in his voice, all of it directed at Eurus.

“Yes. And it can be quite serious if he's in a very bad mood like after Serbia or Sherrinford. It's not his fault, Doctor. It's not like he chose to be this way.”

“I know. I'm not mad at him, I want to help him. Do you know any way to make it go away?”

“Unfortunately, it is impossible to make it completely disappear. Believe me, I've tried. The only help we can provide is to make his fits as short as possible.”

“Great. How do we... wait... what are you trying to say exactly?”

“I think you have already figured it out, Doctor.”

“No.”

“There's no other way.”

“I will not hurt him. Never again.”

“You don't have to. He can hurt himself in normal circumstances. But if he's triggered and has no one to look after him, it will be, for him, a nightmare much worse than a few punches to the face."

A few days after that conversation, John had been relieved to see the marks on Sherlock's arms disappear. There hadn't been any other signs since then. 

Until today.


	3. Chapter 3

He had to act quickly. The longer Sherlock was in this state, the longer it would take for him to get back to normal.

Sighing and cursing for what he was about to do, John rose to his feet and mentally prepared himself. He locked the door to the flat to ensure no one would see Sherlock like this, and turned back to his best friend who was still kneeling on the ground, hugging himself.

Sherlock had stopped scratching his arms and was staring at him with a mix of hope and fear. He lowered his head as John approached. He was now acting completely submissive, trusting his master to give him what he was craving. John hated to see his friend like this and hated what he had to do, but he knew Sherlock had no control over this. It was the only way to help him.

"Sherlock, are you sure you want this?" He tried one last time.

When his friend looked up at him, John's heart broke. Sherlock's eyes were unfocused, and unshed tears were beginning to appear. His breath was short. Soft moans were escaping his lips.

Sherlock managed to answer, just three words, "Master... please… PLEASE!" the last word came out as a sob, a supplication.

John's hesitation disappeared. He wanted this to be over now. He grabbed Sherlock's collar, murmured a quick "Sorry, old friend, " and punched him in the face. Hard.

And he punched him again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Sherlock didn't even try to protect himself. He closed his eyes and let his arms dangle at his sides. The blows seemed to fall endlessly on him. 

Without a noise, he dropped to the floor. John, following him to the ground, punched him in the stomach. This time Sherlock opened his eyes and a gasp escaped him. When John hit his face again, his eyes regained their focus. At the next blow, he felt his mind readjusting, becoming sharper. He was back, he was himself again.

At last.

"John..." he whimpered. His friend froze, fist at the ready.

"John," he spoke louder this time, hissing as the pain flooded his body. 

At last.

It was gone.

That horrible Need was gone. He was free again. His body hurt, but a quick mental scan informed him of his state. No broken bones, his nose wasn't broken either, no cuts except on his lip, no damaged fingers, some bruises to the stomach and the face, no black eyes.

Of course.

It wasn't a damn "master" who had taken care of him. It wasn't _her_.

It was John.

John was a doctor, he knew exactly how to give pain without causing damage. And he loved Sherlock. He had been as careful with this as he would have been with any surgery. 

Speaking of John, where was he?

As Sherlock sat up, another realisation hit him harder than the beating.

It was John who had helped him this time.

Not Mycroft.

JOHN.

Oh shit. 


	4. Chapter 4

How did John know about this?

He had done the right thing by hurting Sherlock but, more importantly, how was John feeling about what he had had to do?

Oh god… 

John had been forced to hurt him again. Sherlock knew how badly John felt about what had happened at the hospital. At that time, John had beaten him up out of rage.

John had never completely forgiven himself for it. 

To be forced to make Sherlock suffer again, even if it was to help, must have been excruciating for him.

Sherlock rose to his feet and began to look for his best friend. He felt guilty and ashamed. He had let the Need take control of him and John had been the one forced to free him. Sherlock was disgusted by his own weakness.

He had accepted the fact that he was a failure, a piece of shit, a pathetic loser incapable of stopping the Need. But to let John know about it and, worse, to ask him for help... Had Sherlock lost all dignity? 

Pathetic, Useless, Worthless, Pitiful... 

The words were deafening in his mind.

Sherlock tried to make them stop when he found John. The doctor was in his bedroom sitting on the bed, face in his hands. When he heard Sherlock, he looked up. They stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence. The detective could see the emotions in John's eyes: guilt, anger, pain, concern.

One of them had to speak first, but neither wanted to start.

Sherlock tried to make the first step, "Thank you. I… I'm sorry...” 

“No, don't say that," interrupted John as he stood up and approached Sherlock, checking the state of his friend. "Don't apologise," he added, focusing on Sherlock's torso, looking over his ribs and then his neck.

Sherlock stopped him, grabbing John's hand. It was trembling. 

"John. I'm okay.” 

“No." John was shaking his head. "You're not okay. You're not. " 

Sherlock put his hand on John's cheek. His doctor was in near shock, Sherlock had to calm him down. 

"John, look at me," he said with his calm, deep voice, “I'm okay. I promise. I am." 

John raised his damp eyes to Sherlock's. He was close to crying. He felt scared for Sherlock. How many times had the Need taken control of this man with nobody there to help him? How many more times will it happen? And by heavens, what had Eurus done to that little boy for this Thing to live in Sherlock's mind so many years later? 

Sherlock could guess John's questions without them being spoken out loud. But he didn't want to answer them, not now. Probably not ever, he thought, hugging John closely. The other man answered the embrace and they stayed like that, comforting each other.

Finally they separated. John had calmed down and now they needed to explain some things to one another.

John took Sherlock's hands between his own and looked up peacefully at the detective. "It's over now. But it will come back sooner or later, right?”

“Yes," Sherlock looked away, ashamed, but his confidence came back when John's hands gently squeezed his own. He locked his eyes with John's, determined to be open with him. "But it's rarely as violent as today. You won't have to do this again : I promise you that I'll take care of it myself next time.”

“That's not what I want, " replied John calmly, to Sherlock's surprise, "Now that I know, it's unacceptable to me that I let you deal with this burden alone. I want to help you, please.” 

“I... I'm not sure about this idea. No, really, it isn't necessary. I can take care of it myself, I've done it since I was a child, so don't worry. Plus, based on today's experience, it's highly probable that you'll have difficulties with—" 


	5. Chapter 5

John interrupted the "Sherlock babble" by putting a hand over his mouth.

"Stop talking," he said with his you-are-talking-to-much-Lestrade-will-punch-you voice. 

"Listen. I know you've been taking care of this since forever, but that's my point, look where it's got you. Nowhere. From what I’ve seen, you've never beaten it and never will, except maybe when you let Mycroft take charge. But let's get something straight : Mycroft sucks at emotional comfort, doesn't he?"

Sherlock snorted, "Yeah. He watched me being tortured in Serbia and all he did afterwards was offer me a shave... not exactly the perfect teddy bear."

“Okay, so consider this : doing it yourself doesn't help on the long-term, but what if you let someone take control? Someone you trust completely to do this safely and someone who will be there to help and comfort you afterwards? "

Sherlock stayed silent, looking straight into John's eyes, and understanding the offer : John wasn't mad at him, wasn't pushing him away, John was offering his help, his trust, unconditionally. 

"Are you sure about what you're offering, John? You don't have to embarrass yourself with this burden, you can forget about this and continue on with your life.” 

“No. Absolutely not. I will not turn my back on you and abandon you. Never. Especially not because of this. I'm not leaving you on your own ever again. Besides, what is helping you with this in comparison to living with human parts in the fridge? This isn't the worst part about being your roommate!" laughed John. 

Sherlock smiled softly. Once again, his doctor reminded him of how lucky he was to have John. A loyal and dedicated friend who loved him unconditionally for who he was, not for who John expected him to be. John was proving one more time that he'll always be there for Sherlock, no matter what. 

"Okay," he answered softly. "I already trust you with my life, I guess I can trust you with a little more. But John, remember, you mustn't force yourself to do this. Hurt me, I mean. If it's too much for you, then you shouldn't do it. Being with me during and after the fits would already mean so much to me. Thank you for not running away, for accepting all of me.” 

“Of course, I'll stay with you, silly. Next to Rosie, You're the most important person in my life. And remember: if you need to surrender the control to me, don't be afraid to ask. At the very least, I'll be able to minimise your injuries. Thank you for trusting me so much Sherlock." 

They hugged again, only letting go when they heard Mrs Hudson and Rosie climbing up the stairs. 

After that day, it would happen again sometimes. Now, though, Sherlock knew he could warn John. Most of the time, the detective hurt himself lightly, other times, more rarely, he asked John to take control and surrendered to his friend. But each and every time, John would be there, supervising the hurt, the injuries, and taking care of his friend afterwards. He would heal Sherlock, and they would both curl up together, speaking softly about Sherlock's feelings. 

As time passed, the fits decreased in number, and they became less and less violent, needing less and less pain to overcome them. One day, they figured out that comfort by hugging and talking had become enough for Sherlock. That day, John beamed at his friend. Their trust, care and love for each other had defeated the Need.

That day Sherlock laughed with all his heart hugging Rosie while the three of them went to celebrate their victory in the best pizzeria London had to offer. 


End file.
